One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (4 page)

The bored porter looked past her shoulder as she passed him.

***

With the town almost within sight, Rowena slowed her pace to take in the colorful rooftop houses, and watch as the smoke rose from the peaks, curling as if they were fingers beckoning her to visit.

By the time she crossed into town the sun was overhead, and her senses became alive with the sights and sounds of buzzing activity. She smiled to herself, feeling the temptation to uncover her head and allow the morning sunshine to fall on her face. The town wasn’t large, although on a market day the number of merchants, freemen and villeins swelled by the hundreds. Today however the number of people would triple.

The taverns and ale houses that lined the main street had their doors wide open, and Rowena caught a glimpse of the people inside, drinking ale as if there was no shortage. Children screamed and played tag in the busy streets, while the barking dogs and other animal noises added to the cacophony of sounds.

Rowena approached a broken-down cart parked at the side of the dirt road, and she leaned on it to catch a breath. She had only meant to pass through the town, but the jubilation vibrating throughout the streets made her want to stay a little while longer.

The people gathered at the market cross, watching the town women putting the finishing touches to the large may pole, which was already heavily adorned with colorful flowers, greenery and ribbons.

A woman emerged from the crowd and began to sing. She raised her sweet voice so she would be heard over the good natured chatter. Soon the others joined in, clapping to the merry tune. Five little giggling girls came forward and grabbed a colorful ribbon each. And then with nimble feet, they gracefully twirled and skipped around the may pole, intertwining and plaiting their ribbons as they moved to the live music.

Rowena brushed an errant strand of hair from her face when out of the out the corner of her eye she caught a flash of the silver and black livery colors of Ravenhearth. Were they searching for her already? She turned her head, and squinted to make out the coat of arms on their tunics. With a sinking heart she confirmed that it was indeed the familiar black raven imprinted on the fabric. Jared and his nephew Derrik stood side-by-side, grimly scanning the crowd, looking for her.

Before they saw her, she ducked behind the cart.

She drew the cowl further down her head as if the shadow underneath the hood could somehow hide her better.

After what felt like ages, she peeked over the side of the cart and saw the two guards with their backs toward her, questioning a man two feet away from where she hid.

Saying a quick prayer, she hauled herself up from her crouched position, and bolted to the opposite direction of the guards. Then seeing an opening between two thatched roof houses, she ran straight toward the gap.

CHAPTER 4

Jonathan urged his horse forward, traveling as swift as possible on the king’s highway. He left Airndale several hours before the break of dawn, hoping to get to the town of Ravenhearth by noon. He still had a small distance to cover, although he sensed the hackney that Lorena lent him starting to tire. Traveling on the highway was a dangerous affair. Unarmed travelers became easy prey to robbers, especially the Folmort gang, who were said to patrol the roads and nearby woods, looking for easy pickings. No doubt, they would be manning the roads today.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hackney, wishing that he rode one of his other horses instead. At least Lorena didn’t offer him a donkey, he thought with derision.

The jerkins and leggings he wore felt hot and itchy, and he lifted a hand to scratch at his chest. How a man traveled for so long and in uncomfortable, scratchy attire was hard to fathom. But it did serve its purpose, he had to admit. With a great deal of debate, he chose to leave his sword behind and just carry a dagger in his boot. Even though he felt naked without his sword, the clothes he wore, and the travel dust that clung to his body, made his disguise all the more convincing. He could easily be mistaken for the many peasants who were making their way to town to celebrate the spring holiday.

The hackney’s ears twitched as if it picked out some distant sound.

Jonathan slouched on the horse, his cowl pulled low over his head so that his face was hidden. Born from the years of training and warfare, he trusted the instincts of animals. He scanned the horizon, as if his sharp eyes could see through the shadowy trees that lined the highway.

But it wasn’t that he feared for his safety. It was an obsession he had. Wherever he went, he was on the look out for his enemy. He knew the Grey Knight was out there, and it was only a matter of time before he was caught.

Jonathan clenched his jaw. Somehow the coward knew his every move, and although Jonathan pursued him for so many years, he didn’t know anything else about him other than the fact that he was a malicious killer, and that he carried no identifying mark on him.

And even though his enemy was faceless, he was still haunted by what he had done. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Amelia, the blood stains on her bed, her hand reaching out for him, and then her beautiful face turning pale as the life force seeped out of her. And it was all because of him. Of that he had no illusions, and his enemy made sure to remind him of it lest he forgot.

He could now hear the sound of distant hoof beats. “Easy, boy,” he said in a low voice. “I hear it too.”

As the sounds got louder, Jonathan turned his face and caught the sight of three knights in formation, moving rapidly toward him. He froze when he saw that all the men were clad in grey, with no identifying standard on their person. Was it possible? Had God finally answer his prayers and brought the Grey Knight to him? His heart beat faster as if it was keeping pace with the pounding hooves.

They were almost upon him. Jonathan reached for his sword, and cursed under his breath when he found it missing.

Quickly, he maneuvered his horse to the side of the road, making a show of getting out of the way, and positioned himself in such a way that he could get a closer look at them. When the trio was a hair breadth away, he hissed in disbelief. Raulf. Although Jonathan hadn’t seen him in years, the man had changed little. There was no mistaking the flaxen hair and fleshy body of his father’s armsman. But what was he doing here, miles away from Blackburn castle? Jonathan’s eyes narrowed at the nondescript tunic that Raulf wore over his armor. And why was he not wearing the Blackburn colors?

Without a look at his direction, they thundered passed him, leaving a cloud of dust swirling in the air.

Jonathan watched them until they disappeared from sight, and then, as if in a trance, he nudged his horse forward. Seeing Raulf here brought forth more questions than answers. Some part of him wanted to follow the knights and find out what they were up to, but another part of him refused to get off track. He made a promise to Lorena, and he meant to keep it.

All too soon the town of Ravenhearth came into view. And as he got closer, the din of animal and human voices became louder. The streets were overflowing with people, their shouts and laughter joyous and light — a world away from his dark thoughts.

Forcing those thoughts away, he led the packhorse through the rutted, uneven streets, heading toward the market cross, where all the people gathered and where he would most likely find the information that he needed.

From where he sat, he could see the parish church and the many houses that surrounded the market cross. His stomach began to rumble as he breathed in the smell of sweet and savory foods that the various stalls were showcasing. There was time to get food later. First he needed to decide where to start his investigation.

He passed by an alehouse, and caught a whiff of ale coming out of the establishment. The door opened, and he could see the place humming with activity. This was a good place as any to start his investigation.

A young boy came forward and after taking a coin from him, led his horse to the stable near the back.

As Jonathan walked through the door, he paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

The establishment was like the hundreds of alehouses he’d been to in different towns and villages. This one was particularly shabby, its owners too busy with its patrons to worry about the appearance of the worn tables and benches. No one seemed to mind the dirty straw covering the floor boards, or the strong smell of stale ale that permeated the entire building.

A nervous looking old man sat at the counter overlooking the patrons, while a young wench, who shared the same narrow features as the man, rushed around the room serving ale to roughly forty customers.

A couple of faces looked up when he walked in. but the majority took little notice of him. They were too busy talking and drinking, and one extra man in the room mattered little to them.

The serving woman saw Jonathan and pushed at a large man sitting at a stool with an empty tankard in front of him, forcing him to vacate his seat. She then beckoned for him to take the empty stool.

Jonathan sat down, and pushed a coin toward her. “A tankard of your finest ale,” he said.

The woman gave him an assessing look, taking in the dust covering his worn clothing. She was far from beautiful, with two front teeth missing, but her full figure made up for the loss.

Before slipping the coin in her apron, she gave him a toothless grin. “We only serve the finest ale here,” she said and then moved off to fetch his order.

He surreptitiously took notice of the type of people that surrounded him in the room — peasants, tradesmen, physicians, performers…the holiday brought everyone to the alehouse it seemed. All he needed was to find a well connected man to feed him information about Philip.

The sound of slamming fists made Jonathan turn his head. It was the man who was forced from his stool earlier. The serving woman and the old man behind the counter got up and rushed over to the giant.

Ignoring the old man, who was pleading with him, the giant glowered at the serving wench. She went to brush past him, but he caught her hand and said something to her. They were too far away for Jonathan to hear. She shook her head, and pulled her hand away as if repulsed by his touch. She turned her head, and caught sight of Jonathan. As if she wanted to incite the giant’s anger, she winked at Jonathan, and gave him a broad smile before sauntering off to the other side of the room to serve another customer.

The giant’s face went scarlet with fury and jealousy.

Lumbering over to him, with the old man following him like a lost hound, the man stood in front of Jonathan. He folded his large arms over his chest. “I don’t like you,” he growled.

The sound of his booming voice caused several patrons looked up from their tankards; their eyes suddenly lighting up at the prospect of free entertainment.

“Now see here, Georgie!” the owner exclaimed. “We don’t want trouble!”

Again ignoring the old man, Georgie gave Jonathan a sweeping gaze, taking in his grubby face and worn boots. He narrowed his eyes, and bared his yellow teeth. “The wench is taken. You should leave.”

“You don’t have the right to tell my customers to leave!” the old man sputtered. “
I
should tell you to leave!”

Jonathan’s hand casually dropped to his boots where his dagger was hidden. He didn’t have his sword but that didn’t mean he was defenseless. “I’m only here for a drink, friend,” he said, giving off what he hoped was a pleasant smile. “I came for the celebrations and find that I like this town. I was hoping to find out if ‘tis worth my time to settle my roots here.”

The giant stared down at him, standing as solid as a tree. “I don’t believe you. I saw you looking at Abigail,” he said finally.

Upon seeing the giant speaking with Jonathan, the serving woman finished serving her customer and rushed over to them, alarm and annoyance etched on her face. “Leave off, Georgie,” she said, glaring at the man. “Why are you accosting my customer?” she demanded.

The old man looked visibly relieved when his daughter appeared. He pushed past the growing crowd that had gathered around Jonathan’s table, and went back to his place behind the counter.

“I’m only protecting you from the likes of him,” he said, nodding toward Jonathan. “I don’t like him looking at you, Abigail.”

“I need no man’s protection.” The wench slammed an empty tankard on the table, and placed her hands on her full hips. “We’re no longer together, Georgie. I told you that many times. Get that through your thick head, will you? I’ve a business to run. If you need to settle your differences, you best do it outside.”

“Now Abigail —” Georgie said, holding his hands out, pleading.

She continued to glare at him as if he was a beggar that had just walked into her establishment asking for free ale. “You heard my father, you need to leave,” she said. “You don’t have any money, and you’ve already caused too much trouble in here as ‘tis.”

Whether it was from too much drinking or from the wench’s harsh words, the big man started to crumble right before Jonathan’s eyes.

“He’s about to cry,” a man in the crowd said with a smirk. Others around him started to laugh. “He hasn’t gotten into a real fight yet and he’s going to cry already.”

If it were possible, Georgie’s face turned a deeper shade of red and he looked as if he wanted to disappear into the floor boards.

Jonathan took a sip of his drink, and set his tankard on the table. “There will be no fighting here today, friends,” he said in a voice loud enough so that everyone could hear. “Go back to your stools. We’re here to get drunk, not fight over women.”

The men grumbled good-naturedly, and went back to their seats.

Georgie looked at Jonathan with relief. He dropped his head, and looked around as if to see if anyone was listening. “Despite my size, I’m a terrible fighter,” he confessed in a low voice.

“I don’t fight well either,” Jonathan lied.

Georgie pushed at a young man sitting at the next table, forcing him to vacate his seat. Grabbing the stool, he dragged it over to sit beside Jonathan. “Well since we can’t fight, it looks like we’ll just have to get drunk then,” he said, grinning.